And he did, while a shadow darkened her eyes. “It seems terrible to be happy, even in our moment of security, with the shadow of death hanging so closely over us. I know you had to kill him, Cyril, but----” She paused. “It was either that or he would have killed _me_. As it was, it was too jolly close a thing for comfort. I gave the other man his chance, but he wouldn’t take it. Lucky he didn’t, for I might have missed the papers.” She clung to him more closely. “And if you had been killed?” she whispered. “I saw it all. At first I thought you had fallen. O Cyril, the agony of it! And then you came out from behind the tree and I knew that you were unharmed. I had seen a man die, as I had, there upon the rocks at Ben-a-Chielt, but when the other one came at you I wanted you to kill him. I _wanted_ it. I prayed that you would. It was murder--in my heart. I can’t understand how I have changed. And I’ve always thought death such a fearsome thing!” She hid her face in his shoulder and clung to him, trembling. She had passed through danger valiantly, carelessly even, but now that for the moment danger had passed, woman-like, she yielded to the reaction. He kissed her gently. “Sh--child. Don’t let it work on you. No bally use. We’re safe now.” “Yes--safe for the present. That ought to be enough for me. But if anything had happened to you--!” She shuddered. “But it didn’t----” “Oh, I’m thankful,” she whispered. “Thankful for that--and for you--the trouble I’ve passed through--the pain of my thoughts of you--I’m thankful for those too, because without them I never should have known you--the real _you_, Cyril. I sometimes think that life deals too easily with most of us to bring out the best that’s in us. I never would have known you in England, Cyril, doing the things you always did.” He smiled at her. “I’m the same chap, though. Can’t tell what a fellow will do when he has to.” “But you didn’t have to. You might have gone to France and sat in a trench. Instead of that you did what was harder--let them distrust you--hold you in contempt--keeping silent and cheerful, while you were doing such splendid things for England.” She paused while she caressed him and said in a proud whisper, “The Honorable Cyril!” “Honorable!” he smiled. “You’d hardly get von Stromberg to think that.” “That terrible old man!” she went on clinging to him. “I can see his vulture face now. He would have shot you--tomorrow!” “But we fooled him--what? Poor Lindberg!” She questioned him and he told her of the devotion of his old friend. “And what will von Stromberg do to Lindberg?” she asked anxiously. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Nothin’ perhaps, unless Udo tells.” He paused and looked into the fire. “Wish I knew about Udo,” he said thoughtfully. “We were very good pals last year.” “But he wouldn’t see you shot!” “He couldn’t do anythin’. I am betrayin’ his country.” “But not _your_ country, Cyril,” she said.